


Unbreakable

by angel



Series: Unbreakable [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Captivity, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel/pseuds/angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story told in timestamps – Neal and Diana were kidnapped during a case and held captive for several months.  Their rescue is only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Timestamp #1: Day 0/ Month 3

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at the LJ comm collarkink that can be found at the end of this chapter. There are five parts to this fic so far, but there will be between eight and ten parts total.

_...And I Told You to be Patient..._ ~ ”Skinny Love”, Bon Iver

Minutes turned to hours. Hours turned to days. Days turned to weeks. 

When Peter and the cavalry finally appeared, pulling open the heavy iron door and letting light flood their small cell, Neal and Diana were curled up on the single cot together, eyes closed and bodies tensed as they waited for the next round of torture. They were filthy, stained with dirt and blood on their skin and what was left of their clothing. 

While their vision was adjusting, and they were starting to realize that it was friend not foe crowding the doorway, Peter and Jones took charge and assigned the probies and other agents jobs that took them away from this prison at this moment. As Neal and Diana struggled to sit up, Peter and Jones stepped forward slowly, holding up their hands to show their harmlessness, until they were close enough to drape their own coats over the trembling bodies of their partners.

“Peter?” Neal croaked, squinting through the long, greasy hair falling in his eyes. 

Peter choked back his emotions and simply replied, “I'm here.” His hand was a millimeter from resting on Neal's shoulder when the younger man shifted, melting into Diana's side. She whispered something inaudible but comforting and slid her arm around to place her hand on the back of his neck. 

Jones shared a distressed look over their heads with Peter while Neal slipped one arm around Diana's waist and used the other hand to pull the sides of the jacket closed over her chest. He murmured what sounded like “Warm?”, and she nodded.

The medics arrived less than two minutes later to find the two so tangled together that they wound up transporting them to the ambulance and the hospital on a single stretcher.

\-------

When Diana and Neal returned to work, after three months of physical and emotional therapy, they were welcomed with smiles and shoulder pats and hugs from their colleagues. As agents dispersed back to the desks, everyone noticed, but were kind enough not to mention, how Neal sidled over to Diana's side and silently slipped his hand into hers while they talked to Jones about all the cases and undercover ops that they'd missed.

Peter retired to his office but kept a close eye on his newly returned agent and consultant. He'd gotten the reports from their therapists about the bond they'd formed in captivity, which was only natural given the conditions they'd had to endure – beatings, starvation, and sensory deprivation, to name a few. They had both made progress in regaining their independence, but today's return to work was stressful, and they'd reverted a bit to calm themselves and each other.

Their physical reports had been stomach-churning. Burns, half-healed broken bones, infected cuts, and internal injuries plagued both of them. Neal had nearly lost a kidney, and Diana's spleen had been removed. The captors had been careful not to mar their faces though, which Peter worried about more than most anything else.

Down in the bullpen, it had taken Neal twenty minutes to sit down at his own desk. He glanced over his shoulder at Diana, making sure that she was okay and that she was still there at her own desk, before he turned on his computer monitor and stared at the blank screen. Peter hadn't given them a new case yet, and he rarely got emails at his Bureau account, so he found himself with little to do. He looked around the office for a moment before getting up and heading toward the break area. Surreptitiously, he checked on Diana again as he got a mug and poured himself some coffee.

When he reached for the sugar, she was standing beside him, getting her own cup. Their hands touched when they both went for stirring straws, and it was Diana who took the half step necessary to press her right side to his left.

“Everything okay?” he asked, unconsciously pressing his free hand to her back, tapping out an aimless rhythm with nervous fingers.

“You tell me,” she replied, giving him a look that said she hadn't missed all his not-so-covert attention.

He shrugged. “I'm good. Thirsty.”

In response, she nodded. “Me too.”

Neal gave her a soft smile as he moved away, taking his drink with him. They both shivered minutely at the separation.

After two hours of making every excuse in the book to stay within sight, and often touching distance, of each other, Peter finally decided to take some action to give Neal and Diana, not to mention the rest of his team, something to do. He called a meeting in the conference room to discuss the department's new case – a health care fraud that looked pretty cut and dry. He was pretty sure that the doctor was adding services to charts that he wasn't actually performing but was billing for, and that was in addition to duplicating claims on women, using both their maiden and married names. 

Jones took the lead on coming up with a plan that involved a two-man team going undercover to see what kind of upcharges the doctor would add on for a visit. One person would need to go undercover as the patient, which Jones volunteered himself for, and the other would need to go undercover as a doctor or nurse to gain access to the charts. 

Peter gave everyone the opportunity to speak up for the other half of the undercover team before assigning the job to one of the probies. He'd wanted to see if Neal or Diana would try to volunteer and was both pleased and disappointed when neither went for it. They weren't close to being cleared for field work, and based on what he'd seen this morning, they weren't ready, but they had both been the type, before the kidnapping, to jump at the opportunity whether they were physically able or not. Clearly, there was a lot of healing left to do here.

(To Be Continued)

Thank you for reading!


	2. Timestamp #2: Month 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal's not feeling well, but Diana's there to help. Peter wishes he could do something too.

Timestamp #2: 7 Months

 _....And I Told You to be Fine..._ ~ ”Skinny Love”, Bon Iver

Neal's cough had started out innocuous enough. Four days later, he was pretty certain he was going to hack up a lung at any minute. It didn't help that he had developed body aches, a fever and just couldn't get warm despite Diana's body pressed against his back while they lay under a pile of blankets in his bed.

“It's time for more DayQuil,” she said softly. “Let me help you sit up.”

He protested with a shake of his head, and a mumbled, “No, no, no,” but she wouldn't be deterred. Everything spun as soon as he was upright, and he clutched at her arms to keep from falling over. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, willing everything to just stop moving.

“Neal? What's wrong?” Diana winced at the pressure of his grip but didn't remove his hands. Instead, she pulled him to her, guiding his head to her shoulder with one hand while she rubbed the other up and down his back. She kept her hand on the back of his neck with her fingers splayed through his hair, supporting his head so that he wouldn't have to.

It took a minute but his brain righted itself, and he slumped in her arms, exhausted from the exertion of sitting up _and_ keeping the broth he'd had for lunch down where it belonged. 

“I think it's time to think about going to the ER, Neal,” Diana whispered. “Your fever's high, you can barely keep anything down, and you're miserable.”

“No, please.” His voice was raspy, broken, and barely audible. “I'll be okay. Please.” When they'd been rescued, the hospital stay had been trying for both of them. Despite the lecture that Peter or Elizabeth gave every doctor, nurse, and orderly they saw, there was always someone putting their hands on either Neal or Diana when they were asleep or otherwise not coherent. That set off a chain reaction that had nearly gotten them booted from the hospital to a 'more appropriate care facility' and had left more than one nurse with a black eye or broken nose. 

“I'm sorry.” She eased him back onto his pillows so that she could slide off the bed and put on her shoes. She was already dressed in yoga pants and an over-sized t-shirt, but she had to hunt down both her jacket and Neal's, as well as something comfortable for him to wear. He'd been sleeping in his boxers and a sweat-soaked tee all morning. 

She wrestled him into a fresh shirt and a pair of track pants that bore a designer logo that made her roll her eyes. Only Neal Caffrey would buy track pants that cost more than her rent. She hoped he'd bought them, anyway. Maybe it was best not to think about that now.

He was quiet and pliant through the whole process. She noticed that he wasn't fighting her, but he wasn't really helping either. Typical Neal behavior when he was sick or hurting. 

“All right, you've got to help me now.” She pulled his arm over her shoulder and heaved him into a standing position. He swallowed convulsively and hung his head as he fought to control the vertigo. When his breathing eased, Diana nudged him forward, and they started their slow march toward the car. 

They were halfway down the stairs when they met Peter on his way up. “What's wrong?” he asked, immediately concerned. He got under Neal's other arm and helped Diana steer him down the steps. When Neal didn't protest, his worry nearly hit the roof but he refrained from commenting lest Neal pull away. 

“Neal's got the flu, and he's not getting any better, so I'm taking him to the doctor.” Diana looked at their boss over Neal's head. “What are you doing here?”

“He didn't look so good at work the last couple of days, and he didn't answer my texts today, so I came by to check on him.”

Diana nodded. She'd heard Neal's phone ding a couple of times but hadn't been able to find it. 

“'M okay,” Neal murmured while making a valiant effort to raise his head. He was almost able to look Peter in the eye when he stumbled and almost fell down half of the last flight of stairs. Diana and Peter tightened their grips while they both reached out to brace their own bodies against either the wall or the banister. 

“Everyone okay?” Peter asked, once they'd all found their footing again.

Neal's response was barely more than a stifled moan as he tried desperately to keep a lid on his gag reflex. 

Diana was slightly more vocal. “Good, Boss.”

Peter nodded and directed them the rest of the way down the stairs and out the door. 

Neal lost track of some time once he was laying down in the back seat of the car. He had vague memories of the sitting in a waiting room chair with his head on Diana's shoulder and of Peter holding a trash can for him when he finally got sick enough to retch. 

Then, there was discussion of admitting him for fluids and observation of his fever, but Neal flat out refused. Completely, undeniably refused. Diana talked him into staying for a couple of hours to allow a saline IV drip to finish and coaxed him into taking antivirals. She sat on the bed beside him with his head pillowed on her stomach as she talked to him about the weather, her first FBI case, random things she'd learned in pottery class, the pros and cons of her Glock 22, and whether or not she should get a cat or a fish or a cactus. Neal drifted in and out, occasionally offering a word or two of response but mostly just listening.

Peter kept Diana supplied with bottles of water and got ice chips for Neal. Otherwise, he felt pretty useless as he watched them comfort each other. It had been like this since they'd been rescued. Any time anything stressful was happening, Neal and Diana gravitated to each other and held on tight. It didn't usually interfere with their work. At least no more than Peter's own protective streak when it came to his agents or, especially, Neal. 

Three hours and a couple of prescriptions later, Peter insisted on driving them back to June's. He'd tried to talk them into spending a couple of nights at the Burke home, but Neal had wanted to be in his own space. Peter was confident that Diana could take care of him, but he wished he could help too. 

(End Scene – TBC)

Thank you for reading!


	3. Timestamp #3: Week 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana hates feeling vulnerable, but right now it's unavoidable.

Timestamp #3: Week 1

 _....And I Told You to be Balanced..._ ~ ”Skinny Love”, Bon Iver

Neal woke, groggy from the drugs and the lingering effects of his injuries. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening for whatever it was that pulled him from sleep. All was quiet. Too quiet.

He rolled his head to the right at the same time that he reached for Diana's hand and came up empty on both counts. She wasn't among the rumpled sheets, and his heart rate increased uncomfortably. 

Struggling to sit up, he squinted into the darkness. A little light was coming from the monitors to his left and right, but otherwise the room was in shadows. “Di? Diana?” 

A whimper on the other side of her bed caught his attention, and he carefully slid across her mattress and stood beside it. As his feet hit the floor, a gasp gave away her position almost before he realized that she wasn't in the corner like he'd expected her to be. 

He knelt on the icy tile, dragging a couple of blankets off her bed with him. His stitches, from the surgery to repair his kidney laceration, pulled and he winced when his tender knee twinged at all the movement. “Hey.” He spoke softly but didn't touch her. Not yet. “What are you doing down here? It's cold.” He waited to see if she would respond before continuing in soothing tones. “It's okay. We're safe now. Come on back, Di. Everything's okay.”

\----------

Diana mewled and retreated from the sound. Someone was talking to her, but she couldn't quite make out the words or the voice. 

It was dark, but it always was in this hellhole of a prison cell. She shivered, pulling at what was left of her clothes and trying to curl into a ball. Pain stabbed her left side, and she cradled it gently with one shaking hand. She felt a bandage and wetness that could only be blood. It wasn't often that Lurch or his buddies drew blood; they seemed more adept at causing maximum damage with minimal scarring, but sometimes the beatings were too much.

“Diana.”

She heard her name, and the voice sounded familiar. It was male and quiet, so not one of the captors or guards. Not deep enough for Jones or the right timbre for Peter. 

“Neal,” she breathed. He was with her here, in this terrible place.

\----------

He exhaled the full breath that he'd been holding, waiting for her to recognize him. “Yeah. It's me. Can you come out from under there?”

She stared at the hand he extended. He was careful to let her make contact first because he understood the disorientation and terror of the nightmares and flashbacks. He'd been on her side of this conversation more than once, and he'd talked her out of the corner a few times before too.

He was grateful that the others were giving them time and space right now. Peter had insisted on spending the first night at the hospital with them, but there had been too many people, too many sounds, too many lights. Too much of everything. 

In the end, their hospital beds had been moved side by side and locked into place. The monitors had been silenced, and the lights had been dimmed. Neal and Diana had clung to each other, begging to be left alone. 

\----------

Diana's hand was trembling when she took Neal's and crawled out from under the bed. He put his free hand on top of her head to keep her from bumping it on the rail that was in its down position. Once she was free, he threw a blanket around her shoulders. 

She stood under her own power, refusing to lean on Neal despite his arm slipping around her waist to help. Now that she was back in the current time and place, she remembered his injuries as well as her own. 

They each gingerly climbed back onto the beds, and she watched as Neal pulled the sheets and blankets back over both of them. He nestled into her side and smiled gently at her.

She appreciated that he didn't ask if she was okay. They both knew the answer to that question. She'd been through a lot as a diplomat's daughter and as an FBI agent, but she'd never been so helpless in a situation as she had been in their prison and sometimes here in the hospital room. In fact, she'd always tried her damnedest to be prepared and not to be viewed as merely a vulnerable, weak woman.

\----------

Neal put his arm around her, hoping to still her shivering. He frowned when his hand touched the wet bandage on her side. “You're bleeding.”

“What?” She'd started to drift off again, drugs and Neal's body heat rapidly making her drowsy. “Yeah. It's okay.”

He pulled back the sheets and her blood-stained hospital gown. She was only wearing panties underneath, but they'd grown so accustomed to seeing each other's bodies while administering what little first aid and comfort they could that he didn't even notice her state of undress. He was focused on the bandage, and when he peeled back a corner, he hissed at the torn stitches. “I have to call the nurse.”

“No, please, no.” She moaned and shook her head, clearly not ready to have strangers' hands on her. It was a sentiment Neal sympathized with, but they couldn't ignore this. 

“Shhhh,” he said, pressing his lips to her temple and rocking her for a brief moment. “I'll be right here.”

She burrowed her face into his shoulder for a moment before nodding against him. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeated, reaching over to press the call button.

He had to move away when the nurse arrived because Diana's wound was on the side that he had been lying against, but he kept a tight grip on her hand, and they never broke eye contact even through the nurse's questions, a doctor's arrival and their ministrations. 

\----------

Diana was exhausted and sore when the medical personnel finally left them alone. She tugged Neal closer to her anyway and rested her head against his shoulder. “Thanks,” she said softly.

He placed an index finger over her lips. “None of that. You do it for me too.”

“Guess we're stuck with each other then.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “We are.”

(End Scene – TBC)

Thank you for reading!


	4. Timestamp #4: Week 2 or so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diana receives an important visitor.

Timestamp #4: Week 2 or so

_...And I Told You to be Kind..._ ~ ”Skinny Love”, Bon Iver

Diana was surprised when Christie showed up one evening in the hospital room that she shared with Neal. It was a couple of weeks or so after they'd been found – the days ran together a lot in the beginning – and Christie had looked like she was about to cry. In all the time that they'd been together, Christie had rarely ever cried. Not even when they'd broken up.

“Diana?”

“Christie? Hi.” She reached toward Neal's bed before remembering that he was down in radiology for a CT of his kidneys. Twisting his sheet in her fingers, Diana took a breath to try and calm herself. She was feeling a bit unsteady due to the anti-anxiety medication she'd taken when Neal had been wheeled out of the room, and she really didn't want to have this conversation while under the influence of any kind of drugs. 

“Is it okay that I'm here? Because I can go.” Christie was standing in the doorway, visibly wavering between staying and leaving. 

“It's okay,” Diana replied. “You can come in. I should warn you that Neal will be back in a few minutes, and he's usually loopy from the drugs.”

Christie gave her a sad smile and pointed to herself. “Doctor, remember?” She moved on quickly from the rhetorical question. “I just wanted to come and see how you were doing. How you and Neal were doing. When Peter called... I was terrified for you, Di. For both of you.”

It took Diana a minute to catch up. Christie was talking fast, and her head had already been spinning. “We're going to be okay. I'll be okay.” It wasn't a lie, not really. The therapists kept telling them that, and Diana wanted it to be true, but it was hard to believe sometimes. Hell, she and Caffrey both had to be doped up in order to leave each other's sight right now.

“If you need anything, I'm just a phone call away. Even if it's just mint chocolate chip ice cream or a shoulder to lean on.” Christie's offerings were hesitant. They hadn't been on particularly good terms when they'd broken up, but Diana now knew that hardship brought about a change in most everyone, even those that were on the periphery of the situation.

“I'll remember that. Thanks,” she responded kindly. 

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, but it didn't last long. Neal was heard long before he was wheeled into the room by one of their usual nurses. He was belting a jazz song that Diana couldn't remember the name of, and his head was down, concentrating on a puzzle box that Peter had given him to divert his attention when he was stressed. Though, in his current state, he was doing little more than turning it over in his hands. He tensed and his head snapped up when he sensed a new presence in the room. He eyed Christie warily as the nurse helped him back onto the bed. 

They reached for each other at the same time – Diana's hand clasping Neal's as he scooted clumsily over to sit next to her. Their beds had been pushed together and locked into place after their first night in the hospital. Despite the fact that they'd both had surgeries and were both very weak, they kept trying to get out of bed to get to the other. Peter had come up with the solution while Neal was barely conscious and still begging to be able to sleep next to Diana, to hold her, to see her. 

Christie smiled softly at Neal, but he only had eyes for Diana. 

“You okay?” he asked, much louder than he'd intended. He swayed even though he was seated and leaned against her side. Then, his head dropped to her shoulder, and he moaned quietly, probably at the nausea he usually felt after the meds. Neal's system was more sensitive than hers, which made Diana worry.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm all right.” She watched her ex while keeping a steadying hand on Neal.

Christie stepped forward slowly and held up a bag that Diana hadn't noticed before. “I brought you a couple of things. Your favorite lotion, a Sudoku book, some Snickers bars.”

Smiling, Diana nodded and reached for the bag. Their hands brushed when Christie handed it over, and they froze for a moment, eyes locked on each other's. Diana blinked first and pulled away. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome,” was all Christie could think to say.

Diana's attention moved to Neal when he shifted, curling up with his head in Diana's lap and his hands clutching his stomach. She leaned over him, whispering soothing words until he settled. When she looked up, there was an emesis basin sitting within reach on the bed, but Christie was gone. 

(End Scene – TBC)

Thank you for reading!


	5. Timestamp #5: Month 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Diana are released from the hospital and head for Riverside Drive.

Timestamp #5: Month 1

 

It was raining, barely more than a drizzle, the day that Neal and Diana were released from the hospital. As Peter pushed Neal's wheelchair toward the Taurus, Neal turned his face up toward the water and smiled one of the first genuine smiles that Peter had seen since the day his two team members had gone missing.

He gave both Neal and Diana, being wheeled out by an orderly just behind them, a few moments to savor being outside, even it they were in the elements. Then, he clapped his hands gently and pointed to the open car doors. “C'mon, you two. You're going to catch colds if we're out here too long.”

“Oh, Peter.” Elizabeth shot him an exasperated look at his tone. She closed the trunk as quietly as possible and rounded the car with two blankets in her hands. “You can sit up front, Diana. If you want.”

“No, thanks,” Diana responded, as she stood and slid into the backseat. She was securing her seatbelt when Neal got in beside her and did the same. They exchanged smiles, pleased to finally be out of the godforsaken hospital.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” Neal said, politely, when she handed him the blankets, knowing that he would pass one over to Diana. 

It had been almost a month since they'd been found, and they had been on the mend from their physical injuries for a while. Although they had completed the mandatory physical therapy program, they were still required to attend outpatient sessions with their psychiatrists. 

Diana's apartment, the one she'd moved into after separating from Christie, was out of Neal's radius, which the DOJ wasn't interested in extending. They felt that they were giving him enough leeway by allowing him to recuperate first in the hospital and now at home on his anklet on the medical leave that was recommended by his doctors. So, Diana had made the executive decision that she would move in with Neal for a while, and June had done nothing but smile, nod, and ask if she needed to have a second bed set up in the apartment. 

They were able to spend time away from each other now, but overnight was a struggle. With the stress of leaving the hospital and returning to society, no one had felt the need, yet, to push them on staying in separate homes.

Without warning, Neal's hand slipped out from under his blanket to rest against Diana's hip. She tore her eyes from the familiar outside scenery to look over at him. “Okay?”

He nodded once and ducked his head, clearly feeling abashed by his actions.

She squeezed his hand and pulled his cold fingers under her blanket to get warm. Though the temperature outside was average for spring in New York, the wet conditions made it downright chilly.

It was mid-day on a Wednesday, so traffic wasn't bad and they made good time to Riverside Drive. It had even stopped raining by the time Peter found a parking spot, which was a little less than a block from June's. Neal and Diana both assured the Burkes that the exercise would be good for them and set out a few steps ahead of their keepers. 

“Are they driving you as crazy as they're driving me?” Neal asked in a low voice. The Burkes had been stealing glances at them the whole car ride, even though neither Diana nor Neal had been doing anything but sitting and staring out the windows.

Diana pressed her shoulder to his and shook her head. “They mean well.”

“They do,” he agreed. “I just can't...” he trailed off and shrugged. Diana was really the only person that he could talk to lately. Mozzie had visited several times in the hospital – always in the middle of the night and always at a different hour. Neal had mostly pretended to be asleep, and Mozzie had let him do so. He didn't think that Moz hadn't given up on him, though Neal hadn't heard from or seen him in a couple of days.

And then there was the matter of Peter and Elizabeth. He could tell that they wanted to smother him in hugs and whatever else they could get away with, but he wasn't ready to let them in yet. He and Diana had spent months in their hellhole. Every day, in the beginning, they'd both expected Peter to burst through the door, faux-annoyed that he'd had to take time off a case to track them down. Then, many days or weeks later – time was hard to track without windows – Diana had given up hope. He'd talked himself hoarse describing how the FBI would find them, how his tracking data would lead to something like tire tracks that would leave to some sort of thing like a car's GPS unit that would lead the Peter and the others right to them. Wherever they were. But then he'd worn himself down and surrendered to the misery that they were both struggling to endure.

Intellectually, Neal knew that Peter had done everything he could to find them, had in fact found them as quickly as possible. However, he needed time to work through his own thoughts and feelings about the kidnapping and captivity before he could start to forgive the FBI, to forgive Peter, and even to forgive himself for not being able to escape and get Diana out, among other things.

Diana gently grabbed his arm and tugged him to a stop. “Hey. Stop thinking so hard. You're going to give _me_ a headache.”

“Sorry,” he murmured as she led him up the stairs to June's front stoop, where the lady of the house herself was standing in the open doorway.

“Diana,” June greeted with a warm smile. When she turned to Neal though, her eyes lit up. “Hello, Neal.”

He couldn't help the grin that graced his own face. June was looking at him with such happiness and acceptance and love, and he had missed her so much. “June,” he said softly, stepping around Diana to embrace his landlady. 

Diana's eyes widened, and she could hear Peter's and Elizabeth's sharp intakes of breath. Neal rarely initiated contact with anyone else, and he certainly hadn't openly hugged anyone since his return.

June was speechless for one of the first times in her life. She held Neal close when she realized that he was trembling. It was a big day for him and Diana both, and she was so glad they'd decided to move into the apartment. The house hadn't been the same without Neal. “Welcome home,” she whispered.

(End Scene – TBC)

Thank you for reading!


	6. Timestamp #6: Year 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal's loss of appetite concerns his closest friends.

Timestamp #6: Year 1

As the one year anniversary of the kidnapping approached, Peter tried to subtly pull Neal and Diana back from active investigations. They both noticed within an hour and protested that they were fine, but the tell-tale signs of sleepless nights were evident in their lines on their faces. Peter held firm and handed over a box of cold cases for them to divvy up.

The next, and probably more telling, sign that things weren't all right was Neal's sudden lack of appetite. He made excuses when anyone asked him to join them for lunch or dinner and didn't take any of the pastries or bagels that Peter started bringing in the mornings to share with the office, though more specifically his CI. He seemed to live off of coffee and the protein bars and smoothies that Diana subtly handed him whenever possible.

By the end of the week, Neal's refusal to eat was more than a little concerning for his closest friends. Without speaking of it, they each started planning their own comfort foods to share with him. Diana, who wasn't much for cooking, decided to invite herself over for the weekend instead. Her own nightmares had returned, and she wanted some mutual commiseration time with him anyway. 

Around ten on Saturday morning, a knock at the door woke Neal. Diana had been up for a couple of hours and had just completed her Tai Chi routine on the terrace so she answered the door.

Neal rubbed sleep from his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows to see who it was. “Peter? It's Saturday.”

“I'm not here about work.” Peter held up a large brown paper bag and grinned. “I brought an early lunch. Elizabeth and I have plans this afternoon, but I didn't think you'd had a chance to eat yet.”

Neal climbed out of bed and padded across the floor on bare feet. His steps faltered when he smelled the food inside the bag and he veered toward the bathroom. 

Diana raised an eyebrow at Peter. “You're kidding me, right?” 

Peter gave her his most innocent look. “What?”

“Isn't the idea to get him to eat?” She took the bag with two fingers and set it gingerly outside the door. “None of us are ever going to like deviled ham, Peter. Just so you know.”

“I thought you guys might be in the mood to try something new,” Peter defended his favorite sandwich. “My dad used to make them for me when I was a kid. We'd sit on the porch, eat our deviled ham, and talk about baseball.”

Neal scoffed as he made his way back into the room. “What part of that made you think of me?”

Peter sighed and shrugged. “You like to sit out on the terrace.”

Glancing at the french doors, Neal sat on the far side of the dining table. He looked troubled when he turned back to his friends, but he changed the subject quickly. “Thanks, Peter, but I don't think deviled ham is for me.”

“Neal, this isn't healthy. You need to talk to someone about this and you-”

Holding up his hand, Neal motioned for Peter to stop talking. “If you would have just asked, I would have told you that I've been having sessions with Dr. Wilson all week.”

Peter looked at Diana, who confirmed with a nod. She'd had her own appointments with her own doctor just down the hall from Neal's psychiatrist.

Neal sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I'm not lying to you. I wouldn't do that. We're... working on it. For now, can I please go back to my weekend?”

“All right,” Peter replied, heading for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Just go and have a good afternoon with Elizabeth. Diana and I will be fine.”

Diana opened the door for Peter and patted him on the shoulder. “He's right, Boss. We're good.”

\-------

A couple of hours later, Neal was showered, dressed, and painting something in dark swirls of blue and black. Diana alternated between watching TV and fretting over Neal's subject matter. There was another knock at the door; this time it was Jones, who was carrying a large, steaming pan with two potholders. The pan was covered in foil, and he set it down and revealed the mac and cheese with an uncharacteristic flourish and a proud grin.

“This is my mother's recipe,” he said, while dishing out healthy portion sizes for Neal, Diana and himself. “And her mother's before that, and her mother's before that. I'm the first Bailey man to learn the secret ingredient.”

Diana chuckled and Neal smiled at that. “It looks delicious,” Diana said, for both of them.

“Don't try guessing it either; you'll never get it.” Jones teased gently and kept up a light conversation while they ate. He'd recently rescued a puppy from a local animal shelter that was systematically destroying his apartment and gave him no shortage of cute stories to share.

Neal managed about a fourth of his helping before he started picking at the remaining noodles and gooey cheese. He pushed it around the plate as he considered telling Jones that he'd solved the mystery.

“Neal? You finished?” Diana had already picked up his plate, knowing the answer.

He looked over at Jones and could see the concern even through the smile plastered on his friend's face. “Thanks, Jones. Tell your Mom that it was great and that her secret's safe with me.”

Jones didn't look surprised. “Ah, so you think you've figured it out?”

Neal leaned forward, stage-whispering across the table. “Smoked paprika?”

Jones grinned, but wouldn't confirm or deny Neal's speculation.

\------

Around four, Neal had come to a stopping point with his painting, and Diana was napping on his bed, having spent most of the night corralling him and soothing his nightmares away while avoiding her own. He had just started in on his second glass of wine when his door knob jiggled and then twisted. The door opened to reveal Mozzie, one-handedly balancing a tray loaded with crust-less sandwich triangles and an old-fashioned glass bottle of milk. 

“A little help, please,” Mozzie said, when he saw Neal standing by the dining table. 

“Shhh. Diana's sleeping,” he pointed to the bed while he set down his wine glass and took the tray from his oldest friend. “Did June put you up to this?”

Mozzie pitched his voice lower now that he knew they weren't alone. “No, but she insisted on the milk, and she helped choose the peanut butters. Half are crunchy, half aren't.” 

Neal raised an eyebrow.

“It's been more than ten years. Your eating habits at eighteen didn't really have a pattern or even make any logical sense.”

“That's okay.” He set the tray down on the table and poked at one of the triangles. “Grape jelly?”

Mozzie was appalled that he'd even ask. “Of course. It's the best.”

Well aware that he was being watched, Neal picked up a triangle and took a bite. Chewing slowly, he wandered away from the table toward the terrace doors. It was a nice day outside; the sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze buffeting the pages of a book that Diana had left open outside on the table. 

“So,” Mozzie said, sidling up next to him, glass of red now in hand, “I have this problem-”

“They say the first step is admitting you have one.”

“Who's they?”

Neal shrugged. “People.”

“Right. Well, this isn't that kind of problem.” He deliberately took a drink of his wine. 

Frowning, Neal backed away. “Not right now, Moz. Please.”

“Okay,” Mozzie replied as he moved back to the table and started setting up a chess board beside the plate of PB&J. With any luck, Neal would nibble on the food while they played a game.

\-------

By half past six, Mozzie had admitted defeat and left with one of Neal's best Merlots as a consolation prize. Diana was out on the terrace, talking to Christie on her cell, while Neal attempted to concentrate on a book he'd grabbed randomly off the shelf behind him. As sleep-deprived and distracted as he was, he hadn't been able to make it through the first page.

Yet another knock on the door startled him. “Who is it?” he called, standing and dropping the book on the coffee table. He knew his friends meant well, but he was getting tired of his apartment being Grand Central Terminal all of the sudden.

“Elizabeth,” a familiar, friendly voice responded.

He opened the door for her, and she bustled past him with two reusable cloth grocery bags that were nearly overflowing. “Um, hey Elizabeth.” He glanced back in the hallway, expecting Peter to be following her with even more bags, but there was no one there. “I thought you and Peter had plans.”

“Oh, the movies? That was this afternoon.” She started pulling things out of the bags and setting them out on his dining table. “Do you have a big pot? I knew I was forgetting something.”

He pointed to the lower cabinets to the left of the sink. “What's going on? Where's Peter?”

“He and Satchmo are at poker night.” She looked up at him with an astute smile. “You and me - we're going to make dinner. I'm modifying this chicken noodle soup recipe I discovered the first year that Peter and I were married. It usually takes all day, but I wanted to do it together, so I bought the chicken cooked and some chicken stock to make up for what I didn't already have in the freezer from last time.” 

Within five minutes, Neal somehow found himself standing at the counter, chopping carrots, celery, and onion. He had watched Elizabeth move around the kitchen while she explained the recipe and cheerfully recounted the first time she'd made it when Peter had a terrible case of the flu. He hadn't had much of an appetite until he'd stuffed himself with so much soup that she was sure he was going to spring a leak. 

By the time he was done with the vegetables, Elizabeth had the chicken stock and some herbs cooking in the big pot, and the apartment was starting to smell wonderful. He munched on the excess carrot morsels while she sauteed the vegetables in his one and only skillet. 

“How's Diana doing?” she asked, cutting her eyes to the terrace where Diana was pacing while she talked to Christie. 

His gaze dropped, and he fidgeted with the box of pasta noodles on the counter. “She's okay. Not sleeping well, but that's partly my fault.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together for a moment and blinked sympathetic tears out of her eyes. “Peter and I are here, if you need to talk or you need anything else. Anything at all. You know that, right?”

He nodded and took a step back, distancing himself from her under the guise of getting something to drink. “I know, and I appreciate that, Elizabeth.”

She smiled a sad, gentle smile before turning back to the vegetables, which she declared done and spooned into the pot. “When it starts boiling, would you add the noodles? I'm going to shred the chicken.”

Neal agreed and stood by the stove, keeping one eye on the pot and one on Elizabeth as she expertly worked the chicken breast. He couldn't stop himself from snacking more on the extra pieces of carrots and celery that she hadn't been able to fit in the skillet. The soup smelled amazing, and he was surprised when his stomach started to growl.

A few minutes later, Diana stepped inside and smiled at the two of them. Neal was dropping the pasta into the pot as Elizabeth hurried over to adjust the temperature on the stove. The cooks almost collided when he turned to toss the empty pasta box into the trash, and she reached for a stirring spoon. 

“Hey, Elizabeth,” she greeted. “What smells so good?”

It was Neal who spoke up. “We're making chicken noodle soup.” He shot her a sly smile as he snuck a spoonful while Elizabeth turned her back to grab the shredded chicken. Diana chuckled at him and Elizabeth's failed attempt at her disapproving look when she caught him.

(End Scene – TBC)

Thank you for reading!


	7. Timestamp #7: Month 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mozzie finds Neal on the terrace in a storm and learns more than he wanted to know about Neal's captivity.

Timestamp #7: Month 9

Mozzie always knocked, without fail, on Neal's door now. Diana had moved back to her own apartment a few months ago, but Neal didn't like to be surprised anymore by unexpected visitors raiding his wine collection. 

He also always tried three times to get a response. Sometimes, Neal was sleeping or in the shower. Rarely, he was out of the apartment outside of work hours. There had only been a couple of times since Neal had been released from the hospital that Mozzie had entered without being invited, and he'd only done it out of concern. 

Today was going to be another one of those instances. Mozzie had a terrible feeling that something was wrong with his best friend. It didn't help that it was storming outside, angry streaks of lightning and booming thunder claps punctuated his unease. 

“Neal?” Mozzie called, after picking the lock and pushing the door open. Immediately, he felt the cold draft from the open terrace doors. Neal wasn't anywhere in sight and Mozzie's heart sped up painfully. Rain was blowing into the apartment, soaking the rug and the hardwood floors. “Neal?!”

Heedless of the storm, Mozzie hurried outside and squinted into the darkness. When lightning flashed across the sky, he finally saw Neal, huddled against the retaining wall with his arms wrapped around his knees and his head bent forward. 

Mozzie knelt down and asked, “Neal? Are you okay?” When the younger man didn't answer, Mozzie grasped his shoulder and shook him until Neal laboriously raised his head.

“Moz?” his voice was barely more than a whisper, but Mozzie breathed a brief sigh of relief.

“C'mon, let's get you inside.” He tugged and pulled Neal until he stood and shuffled back into the apartment. He tried to head for the bed, but Mozzie corrected his course and sent him toward the bathroom instead. “You're freezing. You need a warm shower.”

Neal didn't protest, didn't say anything, as he followed Mozzie's lead. Within minutes, he was stripped and sitting on the floor of the shower, letting the warm spray wash over him.

In the meantime, Mozzie gathered the warmest pajamas he could find – a pair of cotton pants and a long sleeve henley – and set them on top of the closed toilet lid for Neal to find when he was ready. Then, he stripped the bed of the sweat-soaked linens and added a few extra blankets when he made it back up. Neal'd clearly had a nightmare to kick off this whole incident, and Mozzie wasn't sure what he was more worried about – Neal's current state, what his nightmare had been about, or why the kid was sleeping at eight o'clock at night.

When Neal eventually stumbled into the kitchen, Mozzie held out a glass tumbler of amber liquid. Neal frowned but downed both fingers of scotch in one gulp. He coughed, and his wide eyes showed more awareness than Mozzie had seen all night.

“You okay?”

“No,” Neal choked out. He held up the glass and nodded for another shot.

Mozzie complied but put the bottle away before Neal could ask for more. “You were holding out on me. Macallan 1926?”

“June,” was Neal's explanation. He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, disheveling his curls completely. 

He'd let his hair grow out again, and Mozzie saw it as the defense mechanism it was. He sighed at that and followed his friend over to the bed. Mozzie pulled up a chair while Neal was laying down. “Are we going to talk about this?” 

Neal shrugged and curled up on his side. The fact that he was facing Mozzie was encouraging, but his silence was not.

Mozzie produced his latest burner phone from one his many pockets and held it out. “Would you rather call your doctor?”

“I'm tired,” Neal responded. “I just want to sleep.”

“Neal-”

“Please, Moz. Please.”

Despite the kid's pale, haggard face, Mozzie refused to back down. He pushed the phone into Neal's hand and waited.

Neal closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoring up his emotions as best he could. Unconsciously, he clutched the phone and pulled it close to his chest as he huddled into the blankets. When he opened his eyes again, they were hard, haunted, and focused on a spot somewhere to the right of Mozzie's shoulder.

“They wanted information about how FBI operations worked and how they caught people and what they did with them afterwards. They knew I wasn't an agent because of the anklet they'd almost immediately found and ditched. It just made me more valuable, I guess. They wanted to know what I'd done, what kind of criminal I was.

“I tried staying quiet. I tried being myself. I tried everything I could to distract them, to give Peter and the FBI time to find us. But they just got more and more violent.” He shuddered; violence had always been Neal's number one turnoff. “They took Diana away once for what felt like hours. When she came back, she was bruised from head to toe. Everywhere. It was- I didn't want that to happen again.” He paused and furrowed his brow. This clearly wasn't the topic he'd meant to discuss, but the words were tumbling out of his mouth faster than his sleep-deprived brain could rein them in.

Mozzie quietly got up and went to pour himself a glass of wine and Neal a glass of water. He added a bendy straw so that Neal wouldn't have to move if he didn't want to and then took them back to the bed.

“I don't know how long we'd been there. Time didn't seem to move at the right speed. They came for me once...”

_Neal and Diana were sitting in comfortable silence, shoulder-to-shoulder against the wall when the door swung open with its usual creak of old hinges. It was horrible sound; one that they'd grown to despise and fear._

_Both their heads shot up as two men stepped into the room. The first was a man they called Vader because of his stocky build, deep voice, and commanding presence. He seemed to be the leader and_ mastermind _. And the other was a guard that they had dubbed Lurch due to his height and habit of grunting and pointing instead of speaking._

_“You,” Vader growled, pointing at Neal. “On your feet.”_

_Neal felt Diana grip his hand supportively as he rose silently. He wouldn't put up a fight in the room, when there was a chance that they would leave him and take Diana instead._

_Lurch spun him around and zip-tied his hands as soon as he was within reach. Neal groaned when the ties were cinched too tightly but otherwise only gritted his teeth as he was marched from the room._

_They were in a long hallway with several doors the led into rooms where Neal had been tormented any number of times. His steps were hesitant as he waited to see which one they would enter, but Vader prodded Neal in the ribs with a pistol and ordered, “Keep moving.”_

_Within a few minutes, they were in an open space in the back of the warehouse. Neal had never been here before, but he didn't get a chance to look around. Lurch pulled him to a stop in front of a rusty ladder attached to the wall by some even rustier brackets._

_Vader cut the ties on Neal's wrists and poked him with the gun again. “Start climbing.”_

_Neal looked up. The ladder ended at a trap door in the roof. “C'mon guys. Let's skip the part where you,” he nodded to Lurch,” hang me off the side of the building by my ankles. It's not very original. I've seen it in at least five movies and a Levi's commercial.”_

_Scowling, Vader backhanded Neal hard enough to split his lip and draw blood. “Climb.”_

_Neal crossed his arms over his chest and planted his feet firmly on the cruddy concrete floor. There was no way he was letting them take him to the roof to be tossed off or worse. “Can't we talk about this like gentlemen?”_

_Vader fired a round in the air and then turned the gun back on Neal. “I won't say it again.”_

_He'd flinched at the discharge and hesitated only a moment before climbing a few feet up the ladder. Every time he lingered for too long on a rung, Vader fired on him. The bullets embedded in the wall much too close for his comfort._

_Soon, Neal was scrambling through the trap door. Lurch wasn't far behind, but all he did was pull the door shut with a resounding thud. Neal waited a couple of minutes before trying to lift it, but, predictably, it was locked from the inside._

_Examining the roof took some time in the early morning light. It was made of metal and barren of anything useful as far as Neal could see. He walked the entire length of it and came up empty of either a tool to loosen the hinges on the door or an escape option. There were no external ladders and no visible handholds. There wasn't even a drainpipe to shimmy down. The ground was too far away to make it feasible to jump, and there weren't any other buildings in sight or even any road noise. Help wasn't close. With a sigh, he sat down and watched the sun rise in the distance._

_Hours passed without so much as a whisper from Vader or Lurch or any of the other guards. The sun was hot and unrelenting. Neal was going to have the mother of all sunburns when,_ if _, they ever let him back inside. He couldn't look over the edge any longer; it made him too dizzy and nauseous to be so close, yet so far from freedom._

Neal took a sip of water to ease his aching throat and continued, “I must have blacked out up there because the next thing I knew, I was back on a cot in one of the rooms down in the warehouse. Vader asked the same questions again and again. I wanted to answer him, but I couldn't think, couldn't remember anything.”

Mozzie didn't know what to do or say, and he suspected that there wasn't anything he could do to make this any better for Neal. His heart, the one he claimed to not have, was breaking at the _hurt_ in his best friend's voice.

“Eventually, they tossed me back in with Diana, and she took care of me.” Neal's eyes flicked toward the terrace. “Tonight, I woke up out there, and I couldn't move. Couldn't get up to come back inside.” He reached out with a trembling hand and squeezed Mozzie's fingers. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Mozzie whispered.

“Bringing me back.”

“Always, mon frére. Always.”

(End Scene – To Be Concluded)

Thank you for reading!


	8. Timestamp #8: Year 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a very big day for both Neal and Diana, in two very different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a prompt at collarkink that can be found at the end of the story. This is the last chapter, and I hope you've all enjoyed the ride as much as I have. This story would not have been possible if not for the encouragement from the ladies of WCWU chat. Special thanks to theatregirl7299 and embroiderama for taking a peek and assuring me that this was ready.

Timestamp #8: Year 2

Peter took a deep breath as he stood in front of Neal's door, juggling a six-pack and a bottle of wine. It was after eleven at night, but tomorrow was going to be a long day. Peter wanted to grab a few minutes with Neal while they had the time. He steeled his nerves, mentally told himself to 'cowboy up' and knocked.

Neal was wearing a pair of drawstring pajama pants and little else besides colorful paint splotches when he pulled the door open. He'd been working on a painting all evening and had just put away his supplies a few minutes ago. There were some finishing touches that would need to be done in the morning, but he was relieved to have finished it before the big day.

“Hey,” Neal greeted with a tired and confused smile. “It's late.” They both paused a moment, remembering a similar scene when they'd been little more than FBI agent and semi-reformed conman trying to crack the case of Vincent Adler. It felt like a lifetime ago, and in many ways, it was.

“I thought it was time that we talked.” Peter moved inside when Neal took a step back to give him access. He handed Neal the wine while setting his beer on the dining table.

“About what?” Neal knew the answer, but he wanted Peter to say it. They'd been dancing around this conversation for the last two years; all previous attempts had failed due to Neal's inability to talk about it, Peter's inability to push Neal, and various work and personal interruptions whenever they'd been almost alone together.

Peter twisted the top off his first bottle and gave Neal one of his patented Burke looks. It said both _don't screw with me_ and _I'm only here to help_ at the same time. “How are you doing?”

“I'm fine, but you know that. You get the reports every month from Dr. Wilson.”

“Maybe I want to hear it from you.”

Neal busied himself with finding the corkscrew that Mozzie liked to put in a different place every time he used it. “You brought me wine with an actual cork. I'm impressed, Peter.”

“It was on sale,” he admitted. “You're not answering my question.”

“I did. I told you that I'm fine, and I am. It's been two years. I'm not having nightmares anymore, I'm off all the drugs, and I've decided to stop my sessions with Wilson.” 

Peter watched Neal uncork the bottle of merlot and pour himself a generous glass. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”

Neal took a long drink of the wine. It wasn't the best he'd ever had, but it wasn't the worst either. And he was clearly going to need the fortification to get through this, if Peter's question was anything to go by.

“Neal?”

“I don't think that's any of your business, Peter.” Neal's tone wasn't icy, but it wasn't warm and fuzzy either. He'd always been honest with Peter about when he needed to leave work early for an appointment with his psychiatrist or if he needed a day off, but he didn't volunteer any other information.

Peter pressed his lips together as he tried to figure out what to say that wouldn't be overstepping the boundaries that Neal had set long ago. He briefly wondered what El would do. “I'm concerned about you. There are a lot of big changes happening in your life. I don't know that now is the best time to stop your counseling.”

Neal took several swallows from his glass. “I've got things under control, thanks.”

Peter huffed, annoyed with Neal's attitude and tone. “I'm trying to help you here. Stop being so damn stubborn.”

“I don't _need_ your help, Peter. I haven't for a long time.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I got kidnapped and tortured working with the FBI, with _you_. I watched Diana go through hell – I went through hell – and you weren't there.”

Peter was startled into nearly dropping his beer bottle. He set it very carefully on the table and squeezed his eyes shut. “You have no idea how many times I prayed to switch places with you, wherever you were, Neal. Every day. Every night.” He opened his eyes and forced himself to look at Neal. “I looked everywhere-”

“Not hard enough.” Neal's eyes were dark with years of bottled-up anger and resentment. He'd talked to Dr. Wilson at length about these feelings, and he'd thought he'd locked them away, but Peter had dragged them right back out again with a few simple words.

“There weren't any clues.” Peter had to turn away. “Your anklet was cut in the alley where you were taken. Traffic cameras lost the van when it crossed over the bridge. Jones and I spent days combing through all the traffic footage in the city and in Jersey. You and Diana were gone.”

Neal pushed himself away from the table and crossed the room to look out the glass panes of the terrace doors. There was pale pink chiffon bunting and rose bouquets gently swaying in the breeze. It was dark, but there was enough light from the apartment to see many of the decorations. Diana had playfully argued about the color scheme and the material and the flowers, but Neal could tell how happy she was, and he was happy for her.

“I am sorry, Neal. So sorry that happened to you and Diana. And I'm sorry that I wasn't able to find you sooner. Some days I thank any god that's listening that we found you at all.”

“No god would have allowed that to happen,” Neal said quietly. He finished his wine and went back to the kitchen table for more. 

Peter nodded and dropped into a chair nearby. They were both silent for a few minutes, lost in their own tumultuous thoughts.

Neal concentrated on breathing steadily, in and out, to calm himself. He hadn't been angry at Peter for a long time about the kidnapping, but tonight all those old feelings rushed to the surface when he heard Peter's concerned tone. It was almost the same tone he'd heard in the early days in the hospital and later when he called to ask for the day off to get himself together. He hated that tone but not the man using it. 

Finally, Peter grabbed another bottle of beer and opened it while he said, “I should have been there for you when you-”

“You tried. I don't remember a lot about the first couple of days in the hospital, but I remember that you were there and that I begged you to leave. There was too much of everything then. Too many people, too much light, too many sounds. It was all overwhelming.”

Peter could clearly remember how frantic Neal had been amid all of the medical personnel and their groping hands and instruments and machines. All he'd wanted was to keep Diana in his sights, which was difficult with their injuries and physical conditions. Peter had tried to stick close to Neal, hoping that his presence would be calming and reassuring, but Neal's agitation only grew the more he was separated from Diana. Peter had never felt more useless in his life.

“I blamed you. I guess I still do in some ways. But I blame myself too, and the Bureau.”

Frowning, Peter leaned forward in his chair. “Why would you blame yourself?”

Neal shrugged. “I couldn't get us out. We tried to escape.” He unconsciously rubbed at his side, where his kidney had been damaged. “It didn't go well. Either time.”

“That wasn't your fault. _I_ should have been there. _I_ should have found you.”

Neal suddenly remembered cowering on a small cot with Diana when the door to their cell swung open and Peter and Jones were there, surrounded by the bright light of the hallway. He'd thought it was a dream until they'd stepped forward; a tentative rush of relief had swept over him, even as his body cowered away. “You did.” 

Peter reached for another bottle of beer as he too recalled that day. He'd been so horrified at the conditions of the room and his people that he hadn't been able to move for a moment. When he had walked closer, Neal and Diana had both flinched away and clung to each other. It was an image that he carried with him every day.

After finishing off his second glass of wine, Neal poured a third and quietly quoted, “Survival is triumph enough.”

The Grandfather clock in the hallway started to chime the midnight hour, and they both started at the sudden noise. Then, Peter pointed towards Neal's anklet. “Are you ready for this?”

“Now?” Neal pulled up the hem of his pajama pants to see that there was no longer a green light illuminated on his ankle. This was it. His four years were up, and his two miles were expanding to the whole world.

Peter cleared his throat softly and held up the key. Neal moved his foot onto one of the dining chairs, and Peter removed the device for the last time. He'd done this a hundred times before, but the tracker had never felt so heavy in his hands.

Neal hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he almost choked on the rushed exhale.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I'm... Yes.”

“I didn't come over here tonight to fight, Neal. I never intended for us to rehash a lot of things that I'm sure you've talked with your doctor about, but I'm glad that we cleared the air.” Neal nodded and Peter rushed on before he could interrupt. “For what it's worth, I'm proud of the man that you've become.”

Neal didn't know what to say except, “Thank you, Peter.” He held out his hand but wasn't surprised when Peter pulled him into a hug and slapped him on the back. 

Peter felt Neal tense at the contact, but after a moment, his partner's arms embraced him too. He was taken back, for a moment, to a similar hug on a faraway island and his own breath stuttered. So much had changed since then. They held for a beat and then stepped back. 

“I should let you get some sleep. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.” 

“I never thought I'd see the day that Diana settled down.”

“I don't think she's settling. Just finally allowing herself to be happy.”

Neal nodded and led the way to the door. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“We'll be here,” Peter confirmed, and then he was out the door and heading down the stairs with the anklet dangling loosely from his fingers.

Neal shut the door and leaned against it for a minute. He was exhausted after all the preparations for Diana's wedding, his frantic painting session, and the talk with Peter. Then he remembered the anklet and looked down at his bare ankle. He was finally free. 

\------

The sun was shining and a breeze teased Christie's hair as she and Diana shared their vows about love, strength and second chances in front of their closest friends and families. Neal had walked Diana down the aisle, their hands clasped tightly together until they reached the end, where he gave her a kiss on the cheek, whispered a few words in her ear, and stepped to the side.

June had graciously offered her home as the site of the ceremony and the reception, and Neal had insisted on using his apartment for both. Elizabeth's team had come in and moved most of the furniture out that morning; his bed had been screened off to keep party-goers from wandering back there, prompting Neal to offer it up to Diana and Christie as a joke.

Neal had worked the crowd as only he could, spending a little time getting to know Christie's friends and family, whom he hadn't met before. There was a pretty brunette doctor named Lucy that he noticed Christie was particularly diligent about introducing him to, but he wasn't sure how he felt about being set up. 

When he spotted Diana slip quietly past the screens into his bedroom, he poured two flutes of champagne and followed her. “Hey,” he said softly to get her attention. “Is this a private party?”

She rolled her eyes and motioned for him to sit beside her on the bed. Very few things were private between them. He knew her deepest fears and regrets just as she knew his.

“Are you okay?” He passed a glass over to her and put his free arm around her shoulders.

Diana laid her head against his shoulder and nodded against the smooth fabric of his suit jacket. “It's all a little overwhelming.”

“Yeah, but you and Christie have the honeymoon to look forward to now. Where did you say you were going?”

She snorted. He'd been playing this game with her for days, but she and Christie honestly hadn't decided on a destination yet. Diana had pitched a last minute, spontaneous decision so that she could be sure Neal was okay before she left the city, if she left the city. “We didn't.”

“You know I can find out.”

“We should have at least one secret, Neal.”

“This is the worst secret, Di. By the end of next week, you'll come back with pictures and a little sunburn on the tip of your nose, and everyone will know where you were.”

“Who said anything about sun?”

“Frostbite, then.”

She chuckled and raised her head so that she could drink some of the champagne. “You don't go on a honeymoon to be outside. I don't really plan on leaving the hotel suite.”

Neal choked at the unexpected honesty, and she pounded him on the back. 

When he calmed, she switched to rubbing small circles across his shoulder blades. “Thank you for letting us have the wedding here.”

He still had a hard time going more than a few steps out onto the terrace, but he'd wanted Diana's day to be special. His terrace was one of the best spots in the city to get married, in his humble opinion. “I'm so happy for you two,” he replied and lifted his glass. “I wish you the happiest of futures.”

She clinked their glasses and smiled at him. “And I to you. I didn't forget what today is for you either.” She hadn't intentionally chosen Neal's final day on the anklet as her wedding day, but she had been pleasantly surprised at the coincidence. 

He grinned and lifted his pants leg to show her his bare ankle.

Her eyes widened. “When?”

“Last night. Peter came over, and we talked for a little while.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“You've been a little busy.”

“Not too busy for this. Neal, this is huge. You're a free man.”

He nodded, not sure how to respond to that. It was true. New York was his home, but he had the whole world to explore again and much of it had changed over the last eight or so years.

“What are you going to do? Where are you going to go?” She had a million questions. This was one thing they had rarely talked about. It was as if Neal hadn't wanted to jinx it; he'd neatly redirected any conversation she'd tried to start about it.

“The Bureau offered me an official consultant position. Peter basically created a job for me and got Bancroft to sign off on it.”

Diana's eyes lit up with excitement. “That's great. I was hoping they'd work something out.” Several months ago, Peter had been promoted to Assistant Director, and Jones had taken over the Special Agent In Charge position. Since then, Peter had been putting together a proposal to make sure that Neal would be able to continue working at the FBI after his sentence was completed.

Neal grinned. “Peter mentioned that you'd written a recommendation letter on my behalf.”

“Like that's a surprise.” She rocked her shoulder into his and drank the rest of her bubbly. “Where are you jetting off to first?”

He finished off his drink too and shrugged. “I'm starting with Paris, and then we'll see. Peter's only giving me one week of vacation, so I have to plan wisely.”

She laughed. “Eight years ago, I bet you never thought you'd ever say that or have to plan out vacations around a work schedule.”

“No, I did not. I've got to be honest; I don't really like it.”

“But?”

His eyes darted to the screen that separated them from their friends. “It's worth it. I've found a home here, and I have good friends.” He pulled her closer with the arm that was still around her shoulders, and they both turned to make it a full-fledged hug. 

“There you two are.” Christie's head popped around the side of the screen, and she smiled at them. “Elizabeth thinks we should cut the cake now. Unless you guys need a minute.”

“No,” Neal replied, standing up and holding out a hand to Diana. “We're coming. Sorry for stealing her away, Christie.”

Diana scoffed at the obvious lie but let Neal lead her back out to her guests. He let go of her hand and melted into the small crowd Elizabeth had gathered around the cake. 

\------

Hours later, the sun had set over the city while the remaining guests sat around the largest dining table with their beer or wine. Neal had taken over the role of host and was refilling wine glasses while Jones made everyone laugh with a story about his German Shepherd, Kali, following a Labradoodle around the dog park yesterday like they were on a date.

When he was finished and the laughter had died down, June cleared her throat and moved over to Diana and Christie. “It was beautiful ceremony. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness with each other.” She gave each woman a kiss on the cheek and stopped by Neal's chair long enough to pat his shoulder. “Good night everyone.”

“Wait a minute.” Peter's voice stopped her in her tracks. He stood and handed her the half-full glass of champagne she'd been drinking before. “There's one more toast to make tonight.”

Neal's cheeks colored. He sat up straighter and opened his mouth to protest but Peter cut him off with a look.

Everyone knew where this was going and raised their glasses with smiles and a wink or two in Neal's direction.

“Eleven years ago, a case landed on my desk. It wasn't the most interesting of cases right off the bat, but the forger was clearly talented.” Neal grinned at that. “I could have done without the three year chase, and all the headaches and heart attacks between then and now, but the end result... Neal, I'm proud to have you as a friend and a colleague. On the right side of the law.”

Mozzie coughed at the last part, but Diana laughed and called out, “Hear, hear.” 

Glasses and beer bottles clinked all around as Neal beamed. The praise was as good as he was going to get from Peter in public, and it felt good to hear it while in the company of their closest friends and co-workers.

“Does this mean what I think it means?” June asked, looking down at Neal's ankle, which was covered by his suit pants. 

Neal nodded and lifted the hem. “As of midnight, I no longer have 24 hour surveillance on my every move.”

“Is your cell phone on?” Mozzie asked, pointing to Neal's chest, where he'd tucked his iPhone into the inner pocket a little while ago after taking a picture of Diana and Christie on the dance floor.

Everyone laughed, and June gave Neal a hug before making her way out of the apartment. She paused long enough to drop the needle on the record player set up by the door, and Louis Armstrong started singing about trees of green and red roses too. 

Neal stood and held out his hand toward Diana. “Would you care to dance? If Christie doesn't mind.”

“No, no. Take her away,” Christie said, pushing Diana out of her chair. She loved to watch her wife – her _wife_ \- dance, especially with Neal. Her lips curled up at the thought of having a wife, of having Diana by her side for the rest of their lives. It was an amazing, exciting feeling.

It only took a moment for Jones to step over to Christie's chair. “May I?” 

She nodded and let him pull her up and spin her toward the cleared space where Neal and Diana were giggling and swaying in time with the music. 

Peter and Elizabeth were right behind them while Mozzie took the wine bottle and his glass and went out onto the terrace. He was glad to see Neal smiling and happy, but he was not, under any circumstances, going to dance in front of anyone.

“You should try the Greek islands for your honeymoon,” Neal spoke into Diana's ear. “I can make you a reservation.”

She pulled away so that she could look into his eyes. “Are you trying to get me out of town for some reason?” 

“I just want you to have a good time. I will be fine. Mozzie's going to tour the better European museums with me for a few days.”

“That's... concerning.” She was mostly teasing, but there would always be a part of her that was worried about what Mozzie could drag Neal back into, if given half a chance.

He gave her his best innocent smile. “There will be no forging of the art, I promise.”

“What's this about forging?” Peter asked as he danced Elizabeth closer. He hadn't been intentionally listening in, but he'd heard Neal nonetheless.

“Nothing, nothing. Mozzie and I are going to take the next week and visit some museums.”

“Visit?”

“As tourists.” Neal spoke the words loudly and clearly so that there wouldn't be any misunderstandings.

Elizabeth laughed and pulled away from Peter to reach out to Neal. “Let's switch.” 

Peter blinked and Diana was suddenly in his arms while Neal spun Elizabeth away from them. 

“Peter told me that you took the job. He's very happy about that.” Elizabeth had been concerned that Neal would choose a different path, but she too was pleased about his decision.

Neal nodded. “I'm thinking about going to school too, but I didn't see any reason to turn down the offer. Peter and Jones are good bosses and being a recently released felon would be a little more troubling in most other offices.”

Before Elizabeth could reply, Christie tapped on her shoulder. “My turn!” she said, when Elizabeth shifted to look over her shoulder. Christie took Neal's hand and pulled him into her arms. 

“How much have you had to drink?” he asked, surprised by her forwardness.

“I have no idea,” she replied. “It's my wedding day.”

“I know,” he laughed. “It was a great ceremony.”

She leaned closer and said, sincerely, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Diana. I know how hard it must have been for you to share her over these last couple of years.”

“I never looked at it like that. You two have always been meant-to-be. Diana and I are just...” he trailed off with a shrug, unable to put their relationship into words. “She's your wife now, Christie, and I would never-”

“That's not what I meant. You and Diana will always be close, and I wouldn't take that away from either of you.” 

“So you're okay with sharing her with me every now and then?” He said with a twinkle in his eye that not even a drunken Christie could miss.

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck when she stumbled. “You're a good man, Neal. Thank you for taking such good care of my wife.”

He blushed and nodded as the song faded. Diana moved over to them and threw her arms around both of them while Elizabeth and Peter moved back to the table to retrieve her wine and his beer. It was getting late, but everyone was having such a good time. One more drink wouldn't hurt. 

_And I think to myself .....what a wonderful world_  
Yes I think to myself .......what a wonderful world.  
~ What a Wonderful World, Louis Armstrong 

~Finis

Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt at LJ comm collarkink **here** : For some reason, Diana and Neal are kidnapped. For many weeks or months, they remain in captivity, isolated from the rest of the world. They go through a very deep trauma – brutal physical or mental torture, possibly both. The captivity creates a very strong bond between them. After they escape or are rescued, they still need each other. They often hug and touch; sometimes they hold hands, sometimes they lean together on a bench outside, maybe one strokes each other’s hair. They’re also very protective of each other; however, there is absolutely nothing sexual about their relationship.  
> I would really love to see even a small piece of this.


End file.
